A Lesson in Life: A Lesson in Death
by Elizabeth Robbins
Summary: Logan learns a lesson about life and death from an unexpected source.
1. Life

A Lesson In Life: A Lesson In Death

A/N: A lot of these experiences are my own. I have been a hospice nurse for may years. I also live in San Antonio. The city is near and dear to my heart.

Disclaimers: Marvel owns Logan, not me (damnit).

Chapter 1: A Lesson in Life

San Antonio. God, it's a beautiful city. I've been here a couple of times that I can remember. The people are friendly, the food is cheap and good and the city takes any opportunity to throw a party. Heck, the entire month of April is one big party. Spend April in San Antonio, you can go from booth to booth drinking Margaritas that can knock your socks off. Not that I ever get drunk. Oh, I drink. I drink lots, it's just I have a healing factor that makes it damn near impossible for me to get drunk. Hank thinks my body needs alcohol in order to fuel my healing factor. I just let him believe what ever he wants. I drink, like any other man, to forget some of the things I have to do. That I also like the taste is beside the point.

Anyway, lots of strange things happen during the party the locals call Fiesta. What happened a couple of nights ago is case in point. I was walking on the Riverwalk near my hotel, minding my own business. The Riverwalk is the main tourist attraction in San Antonio. It has sidewalk cafés, tropical plants and twinkling lights that puts a guy in the mood for soft companionship. Off subject here. Like I said, I was minding my own business when I heard a scream coming from under a bridge about a hundred yards in front of me. I, like an obedient good guy, ran to see if I could help. Before I could get there, I heard the splash of a body falling into the river. I hoped that I wouldn't become a witness to a murder. Chuck hates it when I have to testify in court. My lack of last name complicates things. Not to mention the fact that I'm a mutant.

I was real surprised at what I found. There, under the bridge, was a leggy redhead wearing a get-up that Emma would have been proud of; dark green spandex pants, a black bustier and green leather boots. Her outfit wasn't what shocked me. Her temper did. She was royally pissed. She stood there, leaning over the bank of the river shouting obscenities at the figure in the water. She had less muscle on her than the students at Xavier's before I get at them How she threw the guy into the river, I had no idea.

"Can I help ya?" I asked the furious woman.

"Na, I can handle this," she glanced over at me. "Get up you baby. It's only four feet deep. If you'd kept your hands to yourself, I wouldn't have dumped you in the river. Now you can wait for a police boat to fish you out and explain to them why you're in the middle of the San Antonio river." She turned and stomped away.

I was impressed. The guy had to have been well over six feet tall and looked like he could have played pro football. That she wasn't afraid of the hulk stuck in my mind. I had to find out more about her so I followed her.

"If you're going to try some shit, let's get it over with," she called from the shadows. "I have business to attend to."

"I'm not going ta hurt ya," I assured her. She continued to walk.

"Why are you following me?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "What happened back there?"

"Just some prick who thought he could cop a feel without me noticing." She began to snicker. I asked her what was so funny.

"I was just imagining his face as I told him how old I was."

I looked at her face a little closer. It was kind of hard for me to do that. She had a killer body that kept distracting me.

"I'm fifty."

That stopped me dead in my tracks. No way! She had a body that a twenty-five year old would envy and the clear, strawberries and cream complexion of a healthy youth and I told her that. She gave a full throated laugh and told me she had a twenty-seven year old daughter who had just made her a grandmother for the second time.

I felt a little put out. Here I was, finding a fifty year old grandmother of two attractive. That was a first for me, let me tell you. Maybe she reminded me of Jean but I don't think so. She had Jean's coloring but that was the only similarity. The whole time we were walking, she was smiling and waving at people all around us. Several times, she stopped to give a quick hug to a child or an elderly man or woman she passed. Jean would never do that. Jean just didn't have it in her to be that friendly to strangers.

I began to notice her effect of the crowd. The people she touched and even the ones she just smiled at, stood straighter. Smiles appeared everywhere. Everyone looked happier and more relaxed, even me. She may have looked like Jean but her personality was closer to Jubilee. She was a combination of the woman I have loved from afar for years and the girl who was more lifeline than a daughter. It was a heady combination.

She stopped so suddenly that I nearly ran her down.

"You like country music?" she asked out of the blue. I assured her I do.

She invited me to a place called 'Cowboy Dance Hall' on the other side of town. They had good music, a big dance floor and most important, dollar longnecks. Well, for good beer at that price, I was willing to go anywhere. We backtracked to her car, parked in a hotel parking lot and left the Riverwalk.

The Cowboy Dance Hall was at the intersection of two major freeways. It was huge. Not my usual style. I usually go for the small dive bars that have a bartender named Bubba or the biker bar run by some dude named Rocco, not a honky tonk set up for dancing. But dollar longnecks were dollar longnecks. More bang for your buck.

We grabbed our beers from one of the many bars scattered around the enormous room and found a table in an out of the way place. We got to talking. She told me her name was Kelly and she had been coming here for six months. I told her my name but didn't give her much more that that. She didn't seem to mind. I don't give my life story to many people.

We talked for a while, interrupted several times when guys came over and asked her to dance. I don't blame them. She was a looker. Most of them she smiled at and told them no thank you, maybe later. She did dance with one. He was a thin, accountant looking guy with a hang dog look that she couldn't resist. He turned out to be a good dancer. When she returned to the table I asked her if she knew him. She told me that she didn't but he had the natural grace of a dancer so she gave him a chance. She hated to get her feet trampled on. I asked her if I had that kind of grace. She looked at me with narrowed eyes and said no. I had the grace of a predator on the prowl. Little did she know, that described me to a tee.

We danced only once that night. She was considerable taller than me. The size difference put my nose even with her chest. There are advantages to being short. The dance had me with my nose buried in her cleavage. I was the object of many an envious glance as we left the dance floor. One guy murmured "I wish I was that short," as we passed him. I couldn't help but growl at him.

We talked for a long time that night. I learned that she was a nurse and she was working for a home hospice. I'm familiar with hospice. They do a job that I couldn't even begin to do. They care for the dying in their homes, allowing them to die in familiar surroundings, with familiar people around them. It's an emotionally draining job with a huge turnover. She had been doing it for ten years. She dealt with death on a scale that I couldn't imagine. Every day, she had to pronounce a patient, consol the family, make arrangements to have the body picked up and deal with the emotional toll on herself. I was amazed that she was still sane. That much death changes a person, not for the better. She was not only sane but had a zest for life I could only wish I had. She lived life like she was going to die tomorrow. It wasn't like she went out looking for trouble, she didn't. She just knew that life was short and wanted to experience it to the fullest. But it wasn't just that. She wanted everyone around her to enjoy life as well and went out of her way to make that happen.

It wasn't like she took chances; she didn't. She was happy with her life and herself and shared that happiness with everyone she met. She didn't sky dive or climb mountains, she just smiled. That smile could change an entire room. I'd never met anyone like her.

By eleven o'clock, she'd had four beers and was pretty cooked. I'd had an even dozen and was stone sober. I offered to take her home if she would let me drive and she agreed. I followed her directions to her house on the north side of the city. It was easy to find the house. A bunch of right turns off the outer loop and you almost run into the house.

I asked if I could use her phone to call a cab to take me back to my hotel but she invited me to use the guest room for the night. I wasn't too sure that was a good idea. I had spent the evening half aroused by her and I wasn't too sure I could ignore what she did to me much longer. I'm not exactly sure how she did it but she convinced me to stay the night.

As she opened the front door, the scent of sickness wafted out. We were met by a woman who could only be Kelly's sister. She introduced herself as Kim. She grabbed her purse and dashed out the door with a good-bye.

"I have to check on my parents," she told me.

When she opened the door of the downstairs bedroom, the scent of sickness nearly knocked me down. I could hear two heartbeats in the room. One was strong but the lungs were not. The wheezes of sick lungs floated out of the room. The other heartbeat was very sick and weak from repeated damage. The scent of impending death was strong but I couldn't tell which person it was coming from. Oxygen rich air swirled out of the door and I noticed two machines chugging beside the beds.

She introduced me to her parents as a overnight guest as I took a closer look at them. Her father was very tall and thin to the point of emaciation. His eyes were glazed with confusion and the odor of death was strong on him. I didn't think he would last more than a few days. Her mother was tiny, her sick lungs thick with fluid. Her lips were the blue of oxygen deprivation. She welcomed me to their home with a halting, gaspy speech. I nodded curtly and ran from the room, my heart pounding with pain for her.

She closed the door behind her, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and my arm and dragged me out the patio door. She sat down at the table and lit a cigarette with steady hands. I lit mine with shaky ones.

"How can you do this?" I asked her in amazement. "You deal with dying patients every day then come home to deal with your dying parents. How can you do it and still stay sane?"

"Philosophy," she told me as she drew on her cigarette. "Death can be a beautiful time in your life if you are surrounded by people who love you. For my patients and my parents, death is freedom from pain and suffering, an end to a long journey. Most welcome it with open arms. I morn their deaths but I also celebrate their lives."

I thought about that for a long time.

"I only know death as a violent act either to someone close to me or caused by me. I've never known anyone who died peacefully."

"Even death by violence or accident is a release of sorts. People who die in accidents are usually in agony before they die. Some beg for death. People who die by violence are often violent themselves and unhappy with their lives. Death is an end to the crushing loneliness the often are experiencing. We aren't meant to go through life alone. We crave the company of our own kind in the role of family, friends or lovers. They keep us sane and make us whole. Without them, we become twisted, uncaring, soulless human beings with no regard for the lives others and no regard for our own lives. That kind of person looks for situations that could be lethal at a moments notice. They are actively searching for death and don't care if others die with them. In fact, they hope there will be others so they don't have to die alone."

"You're amazing," I told her. "You deal closely with death but you still have the brightest outlook on life I've ever seen. Most people would be hard and cynical to the point of rudeness. You, however, go out of your way to make people feel better about themselves and their lives no matter how bad. Why do you do it?"

"I believe that everyone needs good memories to look back on. I can only hope that the memory of me is one of them."

I know it will be for me. I don't think I could ever forget her.

"Come with me on my rounds tomorrow. You'll see how death is supposed to be."

I have to admit I was curious. I wanted to see how people reacted to death when it was expected so I agreed.

She showed me to the guest room, kissed me on the cheek and wished me a good night. I stripped off my clothes and climbed into bed thinking about what she had said. I didn't know what to expect tomorrow but I was sure it wouldn't be anything I had ever experienced before. 


	2. Death

Disclaimers: I don't own Logan. I'm just borrowing him for a while.

A Lesson in Death

She woke me the next morning with a knock on the door telling me I had time for a shower and breakfast before we left. I quickly showered, dressed and went downstairs. She introduced me to her brother and son. Her brother watched her parents while she was at work and her son was in school.

Her brother had the looks that the rest of her family had; red hair, long and lanky. Her son was blond and at thirteen, and nearly six feet tall, looked well on his way to basketball player height. Neither of them looked surprised to have an overnight guest. I guessed that Kelly brought home strays on a regular basis.

After a breakfast of hotcakes and sausage, we climbed in her car and started the day. She was dressed very differently from the night before. She had on acid green cargo pants and a scrub top with bright crayons on it. The effect was cheerful but a little painful to the eyes.

She explained that she had five patients to see, all very close to death. The first was a man in his eighties who had severe kidney disease. He was still up and walking with a cane and answered the door himself. She greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She introduced me as a rider interested in hospice care. He seemed to accept the story she gave. She did a quick examination of him then they sat and talked for almost an hour. Most of what they talked about wasn't about death. He told her stories of his time in the Army, she told him stories of her time in the Air Force. They traded jokes. When she asked him if his funeral arrangements were ready, I stiffened. He told her that he was still looking for some pictures but the band was booked. He said that he wished he could be there for the party but he'd made sure that everyone would have a good time.

I left the house dazed. She explained that when he was admitted, he had been depressed to the point of suicide. It had taken her four months of working with him to get him to look at his death differently. He still had days when he felt sorry for himself but he knew that he could call on her to come over and cry with him. After letting out his fears, he usually felt much better. The band at his funeral was his own idea. He had been famous for his parties before he got sick and he wanted to go out with a bang. She had already planned to be at the party and invited me to go. I wasn't sure that I would be welcome but she assured me that her wouldn't mind a party crasher. He believed the more, the merrier. She promised that it would be a great party.

The next patient was a stately woman with a bearing that would have outclassed the Queen of England. Kelly treated this woman entirely differently than her first patient. She exuded a calm dignity and caring attitude that Ororo often had. The questions she asked this patient were the same ones that she asked the first one but delivered entirely differently. It was like she was a different person. The woman evidently had a tumor in her stomach and had refused treatment. She sat there, quietly crying, and asked Kelly how the end would come. Kelly told her that one day she would begin to vomit blood and she would die soon after. She cautioned her to call as soon as it started and not wait for her daughter to call when she got there. She got up and hugged the woman and said that God would protect her. It was the first time I heard Kelly say something I expected from a hospice nurse.

The next patient was a woman who lived in a seedy part of town. She was dying from lung cancer. There was a cluster of roughs on the corner that made me concerned for Kelly's safety. She told me not to worry about the gang. They knew she was a nurse and she had told them the first time she came that if anything happened, she knew most of the ER nurses in the city. She could get back at them when they were lying in the emergency room and were in no position to stop her. The threat evidently worked. None of the punks bothered her. Most looked afraid of her.

The woman we were here to visit was confined to bed, her husband hovering over her. Kelly did something I didn't expect. She removed her shoes and climbed into bed with the woman. Cuddling the woman close, she began to sing softly. The husband handed a bottle to Kelly and she drew a dose into the dropper and gave it to the woman. Continuing to sing, she rocked the woman until she began to relax. She sang and stroked the wiry hair until she fell asleep.

Kelly stayed in the bed with her arms wrapped around her patient while she questioned the woman's husband. She asked a lot of the same questions that she had asked the others but concentrated on pain. The woman's husband was reluctant to give the massive doses of pain killers that had been ordered for her. Kelly told him that relieving the pain was the most important part of her care. If the pain could be controlled, the woman would be happier and more alert. He said that he understood but he still had problems with the dose. Kelly assured him that she may become dependent to the drugs but she wouldn't become addicted. She urged him to give small doses frequently to control the pain and to allow her more quality time with her family.

I questioned that later. Kelly told me that the woman was prescribed Methadone for pain. They had found that Methadone was more effective than morphine in controlling end of life pain. The reason the used Methadone was that heroin couldn't be legally prescribed, even if Methadone was ineffective. She told me that if she could get away with it, several of her patients would be on heroin.

I have to admit I was shocked. She explained that the comfort was the name of the game in hospice. If massive doses of pain killers were needed, they were prescribed. Most of the time, the doctor in charge allowed the nurses to use their judgment and experience in regard to the dose. She had never been refused an increase in dosage, even it was usually a lethal dose. If you increase the dose slowly, there is no such thing as a lethal dose. She'd been doing this for a long time. The large amounts of narcotics may have shortened the life of some of her patients but they died comfortable. It was then that the call came that truly changed the way I think about death.

The patent was young, around twenty-five. She had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor during her pregnancy and delayed treatment until after she had given birth to the prettiest baby girl I had ever seen. The woman was thin but I could see the beauty she once was. She had lost consciousness only about an hour before we arrived. Her husband was stressed to the point of uselessness. Kelly asked me to see to the baby while she saw the mother.

Now, I'm not totally helpless when it comes to babies but the only thing I could think of was that this beautiful little girl would never know her mother. I changed the diaper with shaking hands and grabbed a bottle from the ice box. I returned to the room just in time to witness the woman's last breath. Her husband collapsed in grief and Kelly followed him down, gathering him in her arms to grieve with him. I stood there, stunned, feeding the baby. My mind shut down. I could only watch as the family shattered.

Kelly held him, cooing, not really saying anything, just making noises. What could she say? At a time like that, there were no words that could give any kind of comfort. They stayed like that for a long time. Slowly, she got up from the flood and helped the man up. She took the baby from my arms and handed her to her father. Guiding him to a chair, she sat him down. He pulled the sleeping child close and wept.

I followed Kelly out of the room and watched as she made calls to the families of the woman and her husband. She sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out some papers from the binder she had carried in. The scent of her grief was sharp in my nose. I went to place my hands on her shoulders to comfort her but she stopped me.

"Don't touch me, Logan. If you do, I'll lose it. I have to do this now. I can fall apart later."

By the time she had finished her paperwork and called the funeral home, the rest of the family had arrived. I don't know if you are familiar with how Hispanic families handle death but it isn't pretty. The women were wailing in grief, the men stoically silent. Kelly comforted everyone. They all passed through the room that held the body. Most of the women collapsed in tears and were lead out by their stone faced men. The baby was passed around the room at least twice. By the time she came back to us, she was soaking wet with the tears of her loved ones. I took her to the nursery, changed her clothes and diaper and put her down for a nap.

Looking down on that angelic face, I realized what Kelly had been trying to pound into my head. This is what it's all about. The beginning of life and the end of life. They are the most important events of your life but they happen alone. Having a loving family around for both events makes them easier. Having someone like Kelly around can make them beautiful. Having someone around to welcome you into the world and someone there to comfort you as you go out is what makes life worth living.

We left the house after the body had been removed. The family remained to comfort the husband and child. Kelly and I stood beside the car lost in thought.

"Now?" I whispered. She nodded. I gathered her close and she began to sob. "Do you do this every time you lose a patient." She nodded again. "How can you stand it. I would be a wreck." She pulled back and looked at me with watery eyes.

"I think about the beauty in their lives. No one dies without leaving their mark on the world. A lot of the time they have long, eventful lives. She didn't. But she did contribute a beautiful little girl and a wealth of love to her family. Her life wasn't without meaning."

She dropped her head onto my shoulder. "Love makes life worth living." I couldn't argue with that.

We sat in the coffee shop of my hotel drinking coffee. She said that she really didn't want coffee but she needed time to settle down before she saw her last patient. There was a message waiting for me at the front desk. Chuck wanted me home for a mission. I didn't want to leave.

She asked me if I'd learned anything. Loaded question. I learned that with all of the deaths I've seen and all of them I have had to deal out, I knew very little about death. I knew even less about life.

"Everyone will die, Logan," she told me. "Even you." My head snapped up at that.

"Thank the other X-Men for me. You are good to sacrifice yourselves to protect us from each other."

"You knew?"

"From the beginning."

"Most people won't even walk on the same sidewalk with a mutant."

"I'm not most people." I couldn't agree more.

She got up and dropped a five on the table. "I'm going to leave you here. I suspect you're needed at home and I have another patient to see. Just remember this: Family is who and what we make it. Don't be afraid to tell them you care. Don't be afraid to love. Don't be afraid to die. And don't be afraid to live life the way you want to. You don't get a chance to redo yesterday." And with that, the strongest woman I have ever met walked out of the door and out of my life.

I've thought long and hard about what Kelly taught me. She was right. A lot of things happen between birth and death and if you have love, anything is possible. Death isn't an enemy. It's the end of a long journey no matter how is happens. The trick is making the journey as meaningful as possible. I started to tell the people closest to me that I cared. The change was dramatic. I began to feel more comfortable around people. I accepted that I love Jubilee, maybe not like she wants me to but I admitted to her that she was the most important person in my life. I felt more comfortable in crowds. Oh, I'll never willingly go into a crowded building but I no longer felt trapped when I had to deal with large crowds. The most dramatic improvement was with the nightmares I've been having for as long as I can remember. They became less threatening. The memories of the pain still scared the bejebies out of me but I didn't feel afraid that I would die.

Chuck was curious about the turn around in my attitude and I told him about Kelly. He wants to invite her to the mansion to talk to the rest of the team but she has refused so far. She'll come eventually. I have a very good nose and her son smelled like a mutant. Sooner or later, she'll ask for help controlling his powers. I'll keep in touch with her and when she's ready, I'll be there. It's the least I can do. 


End file.
